


He Doesn't Hold My Hand

by KelseaGrumbles



Series: Holding Hands with Bryce Lahela [1]
Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseaGrumbles/pseuds/KelseaGrumbles
Summary: So this is a little different that what I usually write. Specifically it’s in first person which I don’t normally do. Also it’s gender neutral. It’s also sort of a personal piece but you don’t have to read too much into that lol. Also I wrote this whole thing on my phone which I don’t normally do so I apologize for any mistakes. Enjoy!
Relationships: Bryce Lahela/Main Character (Open Heart)
Series: Holding Hands with Bryce Lahela [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962976
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	He Doesn't Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little different that what I usually write. Specifically it’s in first person which I don’t normally do. Also it’s gender neutral. It’s also sort of a personal piece but you don’t have to read too much into that lol. Also I wrote this whole thing on my phone which I don’t normally do so I apologize for any mistakes. Enjoy!

Bryce doesn’t hold my hand.

Nobody’s perfect, after all.

He tends to make excuses. After a long day of surgery he just wants to give them a rest. He’s afraid that if they stay intertwined for too long that something might happen. And sometimes he just admits that he’s not a big fan of hand holding. I don’t question it too often, because honestly I never like to argue with him and it really isn’t that big of a deal.

Some of my friends have noticed. Most of them keep their opinions to themselves. Others ask me if everything is okay between us.

“Did you two get into a fight?”

The answer is always no.

“Maybe he’s not taking your relationship seriously.”

I don’t think that’s the case though the thought still hurts.

“Do you want me to knock some sense into that meat head of his?”

No thanks, Jackie.

Sometimes it gets to me. I’m only human, after all. Maybe he’s embarrassed by me. Maybe he’s unsure of our relationship. Maybe the intimacy scares him.

Maybe he doesn’t actually love me like he says he does.

But maybe, just maybe, there’s more to it.

Like when I’m sitting alone in the Edenbrook cafeteria and a piping hot cup of coffee suddenly appears in front of me, followed by the scrub-clad body of one very confident surgeon.

“Looked like you could use a pick-me-up,” he would say. He would always be right.

Or when we’re sitting at Donahue’s - or any other bar, restaurant or anywhere else - deep in conversation about work, life or some obscure reference that only we know because that is all we know. And as he’s talking, his eyes never wavering from mine, he gently reaches out to pluck a loose hair from my sweater, because he knows I can’t stand them.

“Oh, thank you,” I would say and he would simply smile - that damn megawatt, million dollar smile - and respond, “don’t mention it, babe.”

Everyone around us would groan but deep inside the monarchs and swallowtails would flutter frantically and I couldn’t help but grin.

Or when we’re alone in his bed - or mine - legs still tangled between the sheets and each other. With my head pressed against his firm chest as those same hands trace along the grooves of my spine. And he counts them, every notch, and after every other one he leans in to press his lips to the top of my head. It’s a ritual - unintentionally started - that we both find comfort in. It’s soothing and puts me at ease. Spending the night with Bryce always guaranteed a rested night, contrary to belief.

But I think most importantly, it’s when I’m having a bad day. And I turn to the only person I know that I can talk to. He sits there quietly as I vent and cry, pouring every ounce of frustration and chagrin out onto him - which I know isn’t fair to either of us. But I just can’t help it because he’s just so good at listening. He stays completely silent, only speaking when I ask him ridiculous, rhetorical questions.

“How could I be so stupid?” I’d ask.

“You’re not stupid, Casey.”

“Why am I like this?”

“You’re amazing, babe. Don’t put yourself down like that.”

And then after I had bitched and moaned and released everything into the open, he would be there with open arms. He’s soft and warm and strong and with a single embrace, I could see just how silly I had been.

But Bryce doesn’t think I’m silly. He doesn’t see the incompetent person I think I am. He doesn’t see the failure I assume to be and only sees the good.

Because he is good. And he’s always right… usually.

And that’s because with every small gesture of kindness he’s showing me exactly how much he cares about me. How much he truly and utterly loves me, like I love him.

So Bryce doesn’t hold my hand.

He doesn’t need to.

And that’s perfect.


End file.
